


Corporate Bonds

by tenandi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-18 13:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19335913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenandi/pseuds/tenandi
Summary: Heavens assigns Aziraphale to monitor Anthony J. Crowley, the ruthless CEO of London’s Morning Star Corporation. While his mission is to influence Crowley toward the greater good, Aziraphale finds his task complicated by an unexpected kinship with his new boss.AU obviously.





	1. Cover Letter

Aziraphale had been summoned to Gabriel’s office, which meant he was probably receiving his next assignment. His last hadn’t gone over as well as he’d hoped (spreading peace in the Middle East) so he was a little nervous about what was in store for him now.

Gabriel arrived late as usual, another power play to demonstrate how precious his time and attention were. Aziraphale took it in stride, however, having been acquainted with his supervisor’s callousness long enough.

He was alerted to the archangel’s presence when a magazine plopped down on the side table next to him. Aziraphale glanced at the publication (Forbes) before turning his attention toward the elegant figure of Gabriel flouncing down in his chair.

“Required reading,” the archangel said.

Before Aziraphale could ask anything Gabriel started thumbing through messages from his secretary. He spent at least three minutes arranging his calendar before looking up at the principality.

“Are you still here?” he remarked, looking genuinely surprised.

Aziraphale twitched uncomfortably in his chair before clearing his throat. “Ah, well...you haven’t told me my assignment yet?”

Gabriel looked incredulous and pointed to the magazine. “It’s him, of course,” he said flatly.

Aziraphale picked up the glossy publication and studied its cover. A dapper man in a charcoal suit gazed back at him. Looking closer, he noted the intensity of his stare, the fashionable stubble on his razor-edge jawline, and a slight smirk that curled up deviously at one corner.

“Crowley’s Empire,” the angel read the caption out loud. “Wait, that’s the guy from the Morning Star Corporation, right?”

Gabriel shot a practiced look his way that Aziraphale knew too well. It was the look that said, ‘way to puzzle it out you complete knob!’

Aziraphale cringed but pressed on. “And more specifically then,” he ventured, “I’m supposed to...do what exactly?”

Gabriel sighed before lacing the tips of his fingers together over the desk. “You are going to be his personal assistant,” he explained. “Morning Star isn’t just a banking industry, you know. They have international ventures including the manufacture of arms, pesticides, pharmaceutical production… They have a hand in almost every depraved industry known to man.”

Gabriel stood up as if this conversation had lasted for hours already.

“We could use an angelic influence to start turning things around at Morning Star. We need you to get inside Crowley’s head. Perhaps nudge him toward more beneficial causes and practices... Think you can do that?”

Aziraphale was always eager to please and nodded right away. “Can do!” he cheered before his face fell a little. “But I haven’t any real qualifications outside of running a bookstore and guarding the eastern gate of Eden.” (He didn’t bother to mention his last assignment in Saudi Arabia).

The archangel half-suppressed a snort in agreement. “I hardly think that book-hoarding and standing about counts as experience. Just how many books have you even sold?”

Aziraphale looked down.

“And that guard duty gig. Didn’t it come with a flaming sword?” Gabriel pressed.

Aziraphale’s ears burned.

“No matter,” Gabriel went on. “We’ve provided an inspired application and a fair amount of divine intervention. Trust me, you’ll be a shoe-in.”

Aziraphale took heart at that and stood up to leave before Gabriel cleared his throat.

“Forgetting something?” the handsome angel probed.

The lesser angel nearly jumped before snatching up the magazine. Required reading indeed!

-

Aziraphale thumbed through the cover story as he took a taxi back to the bookstore. It appeared that Crowley had all the benchmarks of a successful corporate mogul. Born into a powerful banking family, educated at Oxford, and even rumored as a distant relation to the royal family... Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel impressed as he scrutinized the photos accompanying the article. In one, Crowley was captured in brooding black and white profile. In another, he power posed while staring out a window. Aziraphale grew more nervous as he thought about working for someone like that. Would he be terribly heartless?

Not that his internal monologue had any bearing on his duty. When heaven delegated there was no such thing as negotiation. Upon arriving home he found a postcard sitting on the other side of the mailslot. He recognized the heavenly logo immediately: a precise puffy cloud with staggered lines representing stairs leading upward. Heaven’s PR had been especially pleased with themselves on that one.

On the opposite side of the card was a simple sentence in Gabriel’s hand: ‘Eight AM. Don’t screw this up.’

Aziraphale leaned against the door heavily as it closed. Some things were more easily said than done.


	2. Hire Power

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of his first job interview. He’d sat nervously smoothing his white robes over his knees while a bored cherub ticked boxes on a clipboard. ‘Tell me about your career goals?, can you stand and walk for several hours at a time?, and what supervisory experience do you have?’ were questions that covered the majority of his duties. He wondered what kind of questions someone like Anthony J. Crowley would ask?

It didn’t take long to figure out. Aziraphale had just arrived at the office’s reception desk when a harried-looking clerk ran out to greet him.

“Hello, I’m…” he started but was hastily interrupted.

“No time,” the woman breathed. “He’s expecting you and you DON’T want to keep him waiting.”

Aziraphale’s eyes shot around as she pulled him by the arm, trying to take in the contemporary decor of the office. Workers sat on white leather desk chairs in see-through cubicles. Everything was lined with silver details including the carpet. The entire effect was hermetic, polished, and impersonal. The angel couldn’t help but scrunch up his nose.

At long last the clerk positioned him in front of Crowley’s office door.

“Should I knock?” he asked, but she was already hurrying away. Was she in fact RUNNING away? The angel cocked his head.

He drew a deep breath and pushed the door open. On the other side was an expansive space that appeared larger due to mirrored walls on every side. Bamberg Barcelona chairs were arranged around a clear Le Corbusier table to his right. On his left, a soundless water wall flowed down from the ceiling. Perhaps most intimidating was the long walkway that led to a large modern desk directly ahead of him. The single chair behind it was turned away from him, concealing its inhabitant.

“Uh, Mr. Crowley?” he dared as he edged closer, making his way toward the bright red chairs in front of the desk.

Slowly, the chair turned around, revealing the dramatic persona of Anthony J. Crowley. He looked positively wicked in a black turtleneck under a silver-hued suit. His dark red hair was styled back from his face even as it reached for the sky in one perfect wave. Crowley licked his lips as the angel neared.

“Mr. Fell, I presume?” he asked, his voice low and commanding. “Take a seat.”

Aziraphale nodded and slid thankfully into a chair.

He couldn’t help but notice how Crowley’s eyes sparkled even as they gazed severely at his interviewee They were almost golden in the center.

“Now then,” Crowley said with an unexpected smile, “Tell me everything about yourself.”

For a split second, Aziraphale didn’t just want to talk about his credentials. He actually felt compelled to disclose everything he’d ever known, thought, or experienced. Including his undercover ruse! Frightened of the alien sensation, Aziraphale used his divine grace to bolster against the temptation.

“Well, I’m very excited for this opportunity!” the angel said merrily.

Crowley looked slightly disappointed but regained his charming manner quickly.

“Indeed,” he concurred. “You wouldn’t believe what some people would do to get this position.” The CEO snickered as if enjoying a private joke.

Aziraphale grinned cluelessly. “I suppose you have a job description for me then?”

Crowley just laughed, and Aziraphale admired the perfect white teeth that peeked out.

“Here’s your job description,” the CEO said. “You do whatever I tell you. Whenever I tell you. Think you can handle that?”

The angel nodded. “Absolutely!” he replied.

“Tickety-boo,” Crowley drawled. He pushed back his chair and stood over the angel. “There’s just the slight matter of your apparel. We do have a dress code here, Mr. Fell.”

The angel grew pink as he stared down at his brown velvet waistcoat. The Victorian artifact had been rubbed bare around the buttons, he was noticing for the first time.

“Not to worry,” Crowley interjected. “I’ll have some things sent over.”

He waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss Aziraphale, who stood up a little too quickly.

“Does this mean I have the job?” he exclaimed.

“You start tomorrow,” the CEO declared. Without another word he resettled in his chair and turned it back toward the wall, effectively ending the interview.

Aziraphale smiled despite himself and nearly hummed as he exited the office. Perhaps at long last he would finally make Heaven proud!


	3. Nice Work If You Can Get It

The next two weeks were a blur. It’s not that Aziraphale was lazy, but he’d never had such a demanding position before. Crowley had not been joking about the job description. Aziraphale did everything for his boss: taking notes at meetings, managing his calendar, picking up his drycleaning, making cuppa after cuppa...the list was never-ending.

Not that he didn’t enjoy and hustle and bustle of the Morning Star rigamarole. Aziraphale found himself relishing the fast-paced corporate world that moved as briskly as a well-oiled clock. Perhaps most surprising to the angel were all of the bureaucratic parallels with the heavenly realm. He supposed in many ways that the Lord boasted proof of concept.

Likewise, he was amazed by the comradery he felt while working beside his new boss. For all of his infamous reputation, Crowley actually treated Aziraphale quite decently. When he did a good job it was acknowledged. When he made a mistake it was addressed and life went on. Occasionally he even found the CEO confiding in him. Aziraphale began to form a hypothesis that perhaps Crowley really was good deep down.

The angel started to spend more time outside of work thinking about his job. Of course, this was made easier due to the constant barrage of texts and emails from Crowley at all hours. (Aziraphale had been forced to learn how to use a “black berry.”) Luckily for the angel he didn’t sleep. It almost seemed like the CEO didn’t either.

One night, Aziraphale had just walked into the bookstore when his home phone rang. With mock annoyance the angel picked up the antique receiver.

“Exactly,” Crowley was saying, “Get it to me by eight tonight!”

“Yes?” Aziraphale sang.

“Ah!” Crowley exclaimed. “You won’t believe the most abominable cock up… Never can trust the Montenegro office. Can you get over to the condo, let’s see, in the next hour?”

Aziraphale wilted a little, not only because he’d never been to his boss’s home (just a little intimidating), but also because he longed to visit the new French cafe around the corner. His stomach grumbled at the thought.

“I’ll set you up, of course,” Crowley said as if reading his mind. “The chef’s got something special in the works. Should help us burn the midnight oil!”

Aziraphale perked up immediately.

“I’ll send a car,” his boss continued. “And don’t forget the...oh whatever that thing is.”

The call disconnected but Aziraphale was hardly phased. After working sixty to seventy-hour weeks with the man, the angel could already intuit everything he vaguely referred to.

-

Of course Aziraphale expected Crowley would only settle for the best living conditions, and his condo was no exception. Indeed, his ‘condo’ looked much more like a mini-mansion that styled itself after the Guggenheim. The private car dropped him off at the entrance where a maid was already opening the glass front door.

“He’s in the living room,” she said, indicating toward the back.

Aziraphale stepped over a zebra rug and admired countless Ming vases along the way. Contemporary paintings swallowed the white walls while fresh floral arrangements littered every table. He found himself in an open concept kitchen and living space where Crowley was pacing on a Persian rug.

“Unbelievable,” he was exclaiming into the cell phone that might as well be attached to his head. Aziraphale smiled ruefully.

“Your meal, sir,” Crowley’s private chef said as he emerged from the walk-in pantry. He picked up a luxurious dish and set it on the dining table nearby. “Bon appetit!”

“No, that’s not…” Crowley dragged himself away from the call and looked over at the angel.  
“What do you want to drink?” he half whispered and pantomimed.

Aziraphale looked at the stocked bar behind him and selected a particularly old scotch. He held it up and Crowley nodded approvingly. He watched as the CEO approached the table, leaning on a chair as his chef set down a dish for him too. Gripping the back of the chair, Crowley let out a series of stuttered noises.

“Then fix it!” he cried at last. The phone skittered out of his hand and down the long expanse of the dining table. “For Satan’s sake,” he muttered, which made the angel flinch. “Let’s eat, huh?” Crowley said, locking eyes with a frozen Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t seem to notice as he heaved into his chair.

The angel sat down and took a delicate bite as his boss poured the scotch.

“Mph!” Aziraphale lauded. “This is divine! Do you eat like this everyday?”

Crowley glanced down at his food before pushing it to one side. It seemed like he was much more interested in his drink. “Suppose,” he answered vaguely. “Did you bring the-”

Aziraphale slid a folder over the table and Crowley snatched it up approvingly. He perused the content with mild interest before returning to his beverage.

“I’m going to have to let Jim go,” he said matter of factly. “Tosser can’t do anything right…”

Aziraphale glanced up in shock, his mouth half-full of Waygu beef. “But you can’t!” he stated. “He has five children and his wife’s only back on her feet from chest surgery!”

Crowley’s eyebrow shot sky high. “You mean breast augmentation?” he stated.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to understand the concept. “I’m sure he’s trying ever so hard,” the angel went on. “Just last week he regained the Kallenberger account.”

“That he cocked up initially!” Crowley declared.

“He fixes his mistakes,” Aziraphale argued back.

Crowley fixed him with a pointed glare. The angel had a feeling that his boss didn’t get corrected very often. Fortunately, Crowley took it in stride.

“Maybe you’re right,” he concurred as he finished off his scotch.

Aziraphale beamed, and couldn’t miss the slight smile sneaking onto Crowley’s face. It seemed his heavenly influence was finally making an impact. Gabriel would be proud.

“I’ll just dock his pay,” Crowley went on.

Maybe Gabriel would not be proud, the angel amended. But it was still a small victory of sorts.

After dinner and some more business-minded talk, Crowley fell down on the couch and rubbed his face.

“All this responsibility sure is exhausting,” he said.

Aziraphale approached and arranged himself on the far end.

“What would you say,” Crowley began, “To just forgetting about this whole mess and drinking the night away instead?”

“Ah,” the angel replied demurely. “You want to get...oh what’s the term...pissed?”

Crowley guffawed out loud and threw a decorative pillow at his assistant.

“Quite right,” he replied. The two smiled at each other for a beat until Aziraphale dropped his eyes.

“I’ll get the bottle,” Crowley declared.


	4. Job Security

After one month, Aziraphale had settled into his job and made an inventory of Morning Star’s major projects. While some were innocuous, a larger portion were dedicated to ethically questionable ventures. Aziraphale knew it was time to step up his game if he was going to succeed on Heaven’s terms.

In a meeting on dealing artillery to a particularly war-crazed general, Aziraphale lightly mentioned the benefits of less-than-lethal weapons. During a brainstorming session about maximizing plastic water bottle manufacturing, the angel gracefully suggested a buy-back plan for recycled containers. Perhaps most brazenly, he convinced Crowley to invest in a superior program for managing toxic waste rather than selling it by the barrell to third-world countries.

“It’s just more cost effective,” he explained in what he hoped was a business-minded tone.

It didn’t take long for the budding friendship between the CEO and assistant to blossom. Crowley leaned on Aziraphale more and more, meaning that he truly could influence him toward doing the most good. The results were dizzying.

It wasn’t until he accidentally walked in on a water-cooler discussion that he learned his peers’ opinions on the matter.

“What is up with that?” one of the sales people demanded. “What gives him the right to make those kind of suggestions! He’s just an assistant!”

Aziraphale had just been about to enter the break room when he stopped cold.

“Well I can tell you one thing,” a man’s voice responded. “Crowley’s gone soft for sure. It doesn’t even seem like it’s about the bottom line anymore! It's starting to smell like trouble."

“The only trouble I’ve seen is those scintillating looks that pass between them. Have you noticed that?” a woman asked.

Aziraphale’s breath hitched. What in the world were they talking about?

“They do kind of seem...a little close for comfort,” the man admitted. “But I guess sleeping with the boss never hurt anyone seeking a promotion!”

The group cackled and the sound echoed in the angel's ears.

Aziraphale was so embarrassed that he turned on his heel, hardly sure of his ultimate destination other than escape in general. He was so discomposed that he nearly knocked into Crowley when rounding the corner to the lobby.

“Ah!” his boss declared. “Just the man I wanted to see! You won’t believe this…”

Crowley grabbed his arm and stuffed him into the closest elevator before pulling the lift stop.

“I don’t want any interruptions,” he added when Aziraphale’s face went bright red.

“You remember that awful bloke from accounting,” he rambled on, “The one with the hair thing?”

“The periwig?” Aziraphale filled in.

“Ah, yes, the toupee,” Crowley replied. “What a wanker. Anyways he catches me on the third floor with some bit about ballet preview tickets and of course, the last thing I’m going to do is take him up on the offer, but he caught me so off guard I just grabbed them out of his hand! I told him…” Crowley started laughing earnestly now, “That my date would be so pleased! And his face just went all…”

Crowley made a half-panicked, half-shocked expression before buckling with laughter.

Aziraphale smirked mildly, still focused on the conversation he’d overheard a moment ago.

“Of course I hate the ballet,” Crowley said more soberly. “Wouldn’t dream of buying my own tickets. But then I remembered that contract we’ve been working from Germany. Turns out the Deutsche Bank president is planning to attend tonight. I guess the Stuttgart is touring? So we just absolutely have to go.”

The angel looked up and blinked prettily. “We have to go?” he repeated.

“Have to,” Crowley smirked before grimacing. “I hope they don’t do Swan Lake. Despise Swan Lake, me.”

He brought the lift back to life and it carried them to the ground floor where Crowley got out.

“I’ll swing by around seven,” he called as he exited.

Aziraphale waited until the doors closed to address the orphan thought at the back of his mind. Did this make him Crowley’s date?


	5. Foot in the Door

Aziraphale fretted as he took stock of the limited options in his closet. Eventually he settled on one of the nicer outfits Crowley had provided, a soft blue dinner suit with thin pin-stripes. He tried to ease his nerves by making a calming cup of tea but his fingers shook despite him. He distracted himself by staring at a pile of books still waiting to be shelved.

At that very moment the front door jingled cheerfully and Aziraphale looked up in horror as Gabriel came trouncing in.

“What are you doing here?” the angel demanded.

Gabriel glanced around the shop with mild disdain, no doubt questioning why a heavenly entity would bother with such trivial human pursuits.

“Hello to you too,” the brunette answered. “I’m just here for the latest report. It’s been over thirty days and we haven’t seen anything yet. There’s no...problem, I hope?”

Aziraphale stood and set his winged teacup on the counter.

“Not at all,” he supplied. “Everything’s going swimmingly!”

Aziraphale shot a surreptitious look at the clock. It was ten til seven and the last thing he wanted was to watch his two worlds collide. He grimaced at the thought.

“Great,” Gabriel said unconvincingly. “It is important you file your reports, of course. I really don’t like coming down here,” he added.

Aziraphale repressed voicing his opinion on that matter.

“Jolly good,” the angel mustered with a flailing smile. “I’ll get on top of that right away!”

Gabriel shook his head and started to turn toward the door, making Aziraphale’s heart soar. Maybe he’d get him out just in time!

Or maybe not.

Crowley walked in just as Gabriel was about to leave.

Whirling on his heel, the archangel effected an enthusiastic tone. “Thank you again for the pornography!” he called before stepping out.

Aziraphale’s face was horrified. Crowley’s mouth gaped open as he watched the tall figure exit, then turned expectantly toward the angel.

“Porn, really?” Crowley’s voiced squeaked. “What kind of bookshop is this?”

It wasn’t possible for the angel’s face to go any redder, so he turned from Crowley to fuss over a stack of loose papers on the counter.

“I didn’t even see him take anything,” Crowley added, which Aziraphale simply ignored.

Crowley shrugged and made himself at home as he scoped out the shop. The angel watched out of the corner of his eye as his boss ran curious hands over some of the tomes. Picking one, he grasped it in awed admiration.

“Faust,” he said appreciatively.

Aziraphale finally allowed himself to turn around. “First edition,” he hummed.

“Very impressive,” Crowley said as he thumbed through the pages. “How much?”

The angel started. Normally, his automatic response would be ‘not for sale,’ but this was his boss after all. And his friend, he supposed. Aziraphale stalled for time.

“Well, er…” he began nervously. “Let me see. First edition 1808...with the market such as it is...could be….maybe….”

Crowley glanced up in amazement as he closed the book.

“You don’t want to sell it!” he accused with delight.

Aziraphale waved his hands in protest. “No! That’s not at all what I-”

“It is!” Crowley went on, an infectious smile growing across his face. He replaced the book reverently on the shelf which did not escape the angel’s attention. “What kind of proprietor avoids a sale?” he wondered aloud.

Crowley walked over to Aziraphale and tilted his head in bold assessment of the bookstore owner. There was a flicker of energy, almost imperceptible, that passed between them.

“I think there’s more to you than meets the eye,” Crowley said softly. He looked at the angel appraisingly as his eyes narrowed. Aziraphale felt something warm but invasive shoot through his body. He covered a half gasp with a mock giggle.

“Just a book lover,” he quipped. “Nothing very exciting about me, I’m afraid.”

Mustering his angelic resistance he pushed the force outward but overcorrected his energy as Crowley went suddenly rigid. Aziraphale received a hazy but intense vision of fire spinning in a vortex. At first he felt a flash of fear, but the fire burned cozily despite its extreme power. And then as soon as it arrived it was gone.

“Well,” Crowley said abruptly, breaking the spell. “I suppose I still have a lot to learn about you, Mr. Fell. You’ll have to tell me everything on the way to the theater.”

Aziraphale smiled nervously as Crowley’s gaze went beyond him to the winged mug he’d left on the counter. The angel watched as the CEO’s face fell even as he smirked.

“This looks...” Crowley said softly as he picked up Aziraphale’s disregarded tea mug. He let his thumbs brush over the porcelain wings fondly if not nostalgically. He cleared his throat. “This looks just your style,” he finished. “Shall we go, then?”

Aziraphale nodded as Crowley handed back the mug and stalked toward the front door.

The angel glanced down in shock as he noticed steam rising out of the cup. He placed it back down on the counter, his hands still warm from the impossibly hot vessel.


	6. Fringe Benefits

Crowley and Aziraphale were led to luxurious box seats at the Royal Opera House. Despite having room for ten people, Aziraphale was surprised to learn it would be occupied by just the two of them.

Affecting keen interest, the angel pulled out a pair of vintage opera glasses and scanned the crowd. Crowley snorted beside him, drawing his attention back to their booth.

“Where in the world did you dig those up?” Crowley guffawed. He stole the glasses from the angel’s hand and started scoping out the adjacent boxes. “Good way to spot Herr Müller, though.”

Aziraphale huffed but didn’t ask for the glasses back. Instead, he turned his attention to the bright red and gold stage curtain. He could barely contain his own excitement at being in the historic building again. The last performance he’d caught at the theatre was during Handel’s residency as an organist.

“Checkmate,” Crowley breathed as his eyes landed on the German he’d been searching for.

He laid the glasses down as he stood from his chair.

“I’m going to have a quick word. Don’t wait up,” the CEO said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Without another word Crowley was gone, leaving Aziraphale out to sea in the incredibly roomy opera box. At the same time, the orchestra finished warming up and the first notes of Tchaikovsky’s Op. 20 swam in. Aziraphale smirked as he imagined Crowley’s face twisting into a scowl, which was exactly what was happening as the CEO made his way toward the other side of the theater.

It didn’t take long for the angel to become completely absorbed with the dancers on stage. In the middle of the second act, Prince Siegfried and Odette in her human form were met at last. Aziraphale was enraptured and felt hot tears forming at the edges of his eyes. It was then that he felt a familiar presence in proximity. He turned to see Crowley had silently reentered the box and was gazing longingly at the dancers. A single tear had tracked down his face.

Aziraphale was startled by the observation of such vulnerability from his otherwise steely boss. As the lights shifted on the stage they cast brilliant shades of blue and white over Crowley’s rapt face. The angel couldn't help a soft squeeze in his chest. Had he ever seen anything as beautiful?

Crowley shifted his attention to Aziraphale who quickly looked away. He pretended not to notice when the CEO took a seat beside him.

“I thought you hated Swan Lake,” the angel teased.

“Shut up,” Crowley said, wiping the side of his cheek. “Ridiculous concept, falling in love with a swan. Feathers everywhere after a shag.”

Aziraphale let out a bark of laughter and quickly stifled it out of respect to the other theater-goers. He squeezed Crowley’s arm affably before he could think better of it.

Crowley cleared his throat. Leaning closer but keeping his face toward the stage, he said lowly, “Not that I’d mind. I’ve always found feathers quite sensual.”

Aziraphale drew in a shaky breath. A vision of his own outstretched wings flashed through his mind. He imagined a hand combing through the plumage, tugging lightly.

“Be right back,” the angel declared as he all but jumped out of his seat. Crowley watched him go with some interest.

-

There was no way Crowley knew Aziraphale’s true nature. The angel reminded himself of this as he gulped Chardonnay from the concession stand. The music swelled dully from inside the theater and Aziraphale paused. He hadn’t realized he’d been hiding out at the bar throughout the third and fourth act. He tried to pull himself together and ignore the sweet feeling that ebbed through his body when he thought about Crowley. His job was to influence, to guide, to regulate the CEO’s worst impulses. It wasn’t to imagine the dark redhead’s hand caressing his wings or whispering soft confessions in his ear.

Aziraphale buried his face in his hands. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,” he mumbled. He wasn’t even sure what it was he wanted. He only knew that wanting was a dangerous concept in and of itself. He signaled the bartender to keep the drinks coming.

Applause broke his reverie as the ornate doors along the amphitheater opened and guests spilled out enthusiastically. Aziraphale turned to see Crowley stalking toward him with a chiding expression on his face.

“You missed the best bits,” the corporate mogul admonished.

“You mean the worst bits?” Aziraphale countered.

“Oh yes,” Crowley replied as if remembering he was supposed to hate ballet. “Just awful. But you seemed taken with it. Why did you bugger off?”

Aziraphale shrugged his shoulders. “Just fancied a drink...or eight.”

Crowley settled beside him. “Just so. I knew you were my type.”

The angel swallowed hard. Surely he didn’t mean…

Herr Müller interrupted the awkward moment by clapping Crowley on the back. He spoke in a quick flurry of German and Crowley reciprocated flawlessly. After a merry exchange, Crowley pointed toward Aziraphale and the Deutsche Bank president extended his hand.

“Herr Fell,” he greeted. “Crowley’s Assistent? Ich habe hörte, du bist ein Schutzengel.”

“Ein Lebensretter,” Crowley corrected with burning cheeks.

Aziraphale knew German but pretended he didn’t. Müller said Crowley called him a guardian angel while his boss substituted the word ‘lifesaver’ in its place. He stopped listening as the two men carried on, preferring to focus on all the definitions of the word ‘type’ until at long last the German president took his leave.

“Well that’s that!” Crowley exclaimed. “We’ve just gained an invitation to St. Moritz.”

The angel cocked his head.

“Swiss ski resort,” the CEO explained. “Quite posh. We’ll have to fit you with some winter apparel.”

Aziraphale blew out a breath and stumbled over his words. “I...er, that is...when would we?”

“Oh!” Crowley said with dawning realization. “I’m terribly sorry, I haven’t even thought about making arrangements. Do you have any pressing business that needs taking care of? Pets to board? Customers to alert? ...A significant other that you need to uh...?”

This last line was delivered with stiff punctuation.

“No, no,” the angel promised. “Nothing like that!” Crowley beamed, looking relieved.

“Well then, pack your bags!” he declared. “We leave tomorrow.”


	7. Christmas Bonus

Aziraphale was terrified. He peered down the cascading ski trail that might easily spell discorporation. He adjusted his face mask for the fifth time as he considered the alternative. How pathetic would it look to walk down the mountain?

Crowley and he had ridden to the top of Piz Nair by cable car, which was most pleasant. Every few moments Crowley would point out some landmark or another, each time brushing his arm over the angel's shoulder and leaning in close. It was quite cozy in the cable car.

Now, Aziraphale faced the impending doom of actually skiing for the first time. It wasn’t sitting well with him.

“I love this trail!” Crowley barked into the crisp winter air. “Gets the blood pumping!”

Aziraphale glanced at his companion, who had never looked more alive. The angel, on the other hand, was the epitome of the opposite. He stood frozen on the spot.

“C’mon then,” his boss cheered. “No time like the present!”

Crowley swept off and shot gracefully down the mountain, weaving large arcs in the snow as he descended. Aziraphale muttered several quick prayers as he shifted his weight on his skis. What he hadn’t meant to do was allow gravity to draw him over the precipice, but it happened anyways.

Aziraphale started gliding down to his surprise and horror. A girlish scream escaped his lips while his arms flailed wildly, desperately waving his ski poles as he careened forward. He was picking up speed every moment with no sign of abatement. He could barely discern Crowley’s outline far ahead of him.

Naturally, Aziraphale was going to fall, but he hoped it wasn’t anywhere near the rapidly approaching pine tree. Naturally, it was. The angel went up in a snowy explosion at the base. Divinity or no, the last word out of his mouth was a renching, “Fuck!”

-

Black darkness turned to orange light, and Aziraphale peered up at a blurry Crowley by his side. He was lying on a sofa in the resort, apparently the executive suite. His body felt heavy and numb. Crowley noticed the angel waking and moved to keep his patient from getting up.

“Sh, now,” Crowley tutted. “Looks like you took a nasty spill. I thought you said you’d be skiing before?”

Aziraphale winced. Maybe he’d exaggerated on that a bit.

“Nevermind,” Crowley clucked. “No real harm done. The resort’s medic looked you over when you were unconscious. No broken bones, not even a sprain. It’s a miracle, really!”

The angel felt a jarring pain in his head and moved his hand to locate the source.

“Oh, yes,” Crowley agreed as he observed his assistant. “A knock on the head was inevitable but the swelling’s already gone down. Ah! It looks like it’s time for your medicine.”

Aziraphale watched his cheerful ad hoc nurse tap a few Aspirin out of a bottle.

“And open wide,” he instructed before handing the angel a glass of water with his pain killers.

Crowley stood to stoke the fire which was casting dancing shadows all over the modern interior of the suite.

“We will need to watch for a concussion,” he said knowingly. “I think I’ll keep you under observation for the time being. It’s a shame we’ll miss the dinner party tonight.”

Aziraphale found his tongue to protest. “But you can’t! I’m fine, really!”

He tried to sit up but Crowley was back on him, easing him down.

“And that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he chided. “The second I leave you alone you’ll do something stupid. You really need to take it easy. Let me make you a cuppa.”

Aziraphale waited until his boss was out of sight to summon his angelic powers. A gentle glow starting from within worked it way to the surface and pulsed through his skin. Due to a short window of time he couldn’t completely heal but he definitely felt ten times better. Of course he couldn’t let on to Crowley so he remained prone on the sofa and waited for his tea. Besides, there was a small part of him that was enormously pleased with Crowley’s attentions.

In short time he heard the kettle whistle and Crowley plopped down at the end of the couch, handing a steaming mug over to his companion. Then he grabbed the remote and turned on the telly absentmindedly. Crowley wasn’t really paying attention, rather he seemed bent on the task of making sure Aziraphale’s blanket was tucked in around his feet.

“Have you ever fallen before?” the angel asked with interest.

Crowley blanched as his eyes shot up toward Aziraphale. The intensity on his face was palpable.

“I just mean,” the angel continued with some embarrassment, “I’m not the only one who’s an utter loss on skis, right?”

Crowley relaxed visibly but his eyes were still wide. “Of course,” he replied in a practiced manner. “Can’t really get the hang of it without a few lumps and bumps. The first time though. That was pretty rough.”

Crowley gripped his mug broodingly.

“I bet you didn't tumble down a mountain,” Aziraphale sighed.

“More like sort of...sauntered vaguely downwards,” his boss replied. “I didn’t mean to fall,” he added quietly.

“You learn from your mistakes though,” the angel suggested. “Personally I’ve learned that I will never strap myself into a pair of skis again!” Crowley smiled slightly.

The mood lightened a bit and the pair enjoyed the tranquility of the suite. They both turned their attention to a movie playing on screen, something about a real estate developer falling in love with his trusty aide.

“Is that Hugh Grant?” Crowley said as he squinted.

“It is,” Aziraphale confirmed. “Love his films. And that’s Sandra something. I always forget her name.”

“Bullocks,” Crowley supplied cheekily. Aziraphale shot him a censoring glance but let it go.

“Speaking of bullocks,” the CEO mentioned as he cleared his throat. “I completely forgot that it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale asked brightly. He never could keep up with human holidays...but this was kind of a big one.

“Does your family do gifts and all of that?” Crowley inquired. “You must be missing them terribly being so far from home.”

Aziraphale tried not to laugh as he thought of his heavenly abode. “I much prefer this,” he replied honestly. “And no, there’s no material gifts to speak of. I suppose you say we just revel in the Presence...of one another,” he finished quickly.

“Ah,” Crowley said clucking his tongue. “Then I hope you won’t mind…”

He handed Aziraphale a beautifully wrapped box with a grin.

“I thought you said you forgot,” the angel said with some confusion.

“Just now,” Crowley answered. “Not earlier. Go on!”

Aziraphale unwrapped the small box with barely contained glee. Under the paper and bows was a delicate ring box. He cracked it open and peeked inside. A silver ring peeked back at him. Drawing it out, the angel admired the two outspread wings that mirrored one another on the surface like a feathered butterfly.

“Do you like it?” Crowley asked hopefully.

“Oh, I do,” Aziraphale sighed. He slid it on his right pinky finger and it fit perfectly.

“It looked just your style,” the CEO said warmly. “We should probably get you a real pair of wings to keep you from careening into trees and such.”

Aziraphale blushed knowingly. “Yes, well. Wouldn’t that be divine?”

The two finished their evening in comfortable silence as they flicked through television channels for hours. In time, Crowley finally allowed the angel to sit up and scootch closer to him on the sofa. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how many hours had passed but eventually caught himself dozing. He was alerted to a soft weight on his shoulder and peered down. Crowley had passed out just there and was breathing lightly on the angel’s neck. He didn’t dare move, but nestled his nose into the top of Crowley’s head and closed his eyes.


	8. Executive Decisions

Aziraphale woke up alone but was pleased to see a basket of croissants and a hand-scrawled note on the table. Apparently Crowley had run out for an emergency administrative meeting but promised to return soon.

Aziraphale was just stretching to start his day when the figure of Gabriel appeared before him. The angel jerked with a start.

“I’ve already told you I hate coming down here,” the archangel complained. “Why is it so hard to turn in some simple paperwork?” He eyed the pastries on the table and grimaced in disgust.

Aziraphale frowned decidedly. “Then why bother?” he mumbled.

Gabriel peered down at him with little amusement. “It’s not just that,” he supplied dryly. “Things are moving on a grand scale. Word is that Lucifer is marshalling his armies. A celestial conflict is inevitable.”

Aziraphale straightened up and tucked one leg under him. Out of habit, he reached for a scone and stuffed it in his mouth to calm himself.

“Come again?” he asked in a muffled voice.

“We’ve been trying everything we can to hold the balance of good and evil,” Gabriel explained. “Even little tasks like yours can add up over time. But with global hunger, poverty, and pollution on the rise...we just can’t tilt the scales in our favor. That means Satan’s power is growing. He knows a good opening when he sees one.”

“What are we to do?” Aziraphale asked, thinking about the horror of impending battle.

“Well the Seraphim are enacting rigorous drills,” Gabriel responded. “The Cherubim are working on home defense. The Thrones are on military strategy. Down to the Third Order, we need you to be our eyes and ears. Have you noticed anything suspicious recently? Some dark impending sense of doom on earth?”

“Not at all!” Aziraphale replied. “It’s as it ever was. Well there’s that Brexit bit…”

Gabriel cocked an eyebrow. “Keep your eyes open. Beat the streets if you have to,” he said. “And for the love of…” Gabriel cut himself off. “File your blessed reports.”

The archangel vanished and Aziraphale heaved a sigh of relief before realizing he’d just heard the worst news in six thousand years. The end was nigh!

-

When Crowley returned he looked flustered. His hair was sticking up wildly as if he’d dragged his hands through for hours. His shirt was half-untucked and his usually springy step was disheartened. Aziraphale watched him worriedly before venturing a guess.

“Bad news?” the angel asked.

“You have NO idea,” his boss responded. “Executive meeting from hell.” Crowley took himself off to the shower, which was a good idea because Aziraphale smelled something like sweat and sulfur emanating from his direction. He wondered if the meeting took place in a sauna, which was fashionable these days.

The angel made his way to the kitchen island and propped himself up on a silver stool. Aziraphale was chewing on his third or fourth scone when Crowley emerged wrapped only in a black towel around his waist. The angel froze as his boss crossed over to the fridge and grabbed a beer. Crowley let his hip sink into the countertop and guzzled half the bottle with an appreciative groan.

Aziraphale didn’t mean to stare but Crowley was lean and wiry. A smattering of fine brown hair traipsed over his chest and down his stomach. The towel, plush but thin, gripped every angle of his lower body. A few stray water droplets were vacationing on his shoulders.

“Is there no goodness in the world?” Crowley said forlornly. His hand choked the beer bottle.

Aziraphale was stirred out of his reverie by angelic requirement.

“Of course there is!” he asserted a little too loudly. Crowley’s attention locked on the angel.

Aziraphale regained his composure and placed his hands on the counter. “I like to believe that there’s a little bit of good in everything,” he professed.

“Even the bad things?” Crowley asked as if he truly didn’t know.

“Especially the bad things,” the angel confirmed. “Think about Morning Star, for example.”

Crowley let out a bark of laugher and downed his beer as he grabbed another out of the fridge. “Of all the terrible things I’ve devised, Morning Star is by far the worst,” he said bitterly.

“Well,” Aziraphale disputed, “There’s been good things too! Remember last week when we settled on the contamination suit? That money went directly into rectifying the water table in Arizona.”

“That’s one bloody way to put it,” Crowley disagreed. “And besides, it was your idea to pay out four times what the city was asking for, industry leak or no.”

“Sure,” Aziraphale conceded. “But you still went with it. And the paid intern program.”

“Also your doing,” Crowley reminded.

“There’s other examples that have nothing to do with me,” the angel pushed on. “I saw the check you posted for UNHCR. That money could have stayed within the company but you gave it away.”

Crowley blanched, his color rising. “Obviously a misdirected appropriation,” he tried to cover as he worked on peeling his bottle label.

“And the RSPCA sent their gratitude for the new multi-million dollar rescue shelter you provided for,” the angel continued.

“Some muck up in accounting,” the CEO waved it away and grew visibly irritated as the entire label peeled free.

“Crowley,” the angel said softly. “I know you think you’re the worst sort of person. I get that you’ve been compelled to capitalize on many less-than savory ventures over the years...but deep down...I do believe that you are truly good-”

Aziraphale was knocked off of the stool and slammed into the closest wall. Crowley was seething, his teeth gritted and his eyes wild with anger.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned.

The angel was as shocked as he was frightened. He’d never seen this side of his boss before. Crowley’s fingers had fisted deep into his jumper and were nearly lifting him from the ground. Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth emphatically.

“I’m not good,” Crowley seethed. “I’ve never been nice and I’ve never played by the rules. My empire was built on transgressions and lies! You don’t have the vaguest idea of what I’m capable of or the things I’ve done! Some things can never be forgiven!”

Aziraphale perceived an incoming violation, one that ebbed at the edge of his consciousness. It singed at the edges, threatening to overtake him in a wave of fire. For once, he didn’t resist, but let it intrude into his innermost being. The heated sensation started to overtake his body but he didn’t flinch, fighting fear and anger with the eternal love and patience of his kind.

The angel exhaled defiantly. “I forgive you. Even if no one else does.”

Crowley strengthened his hold, pressing himself against the angel as if ready to pulverize him. The wall didn’t give behind Aziraphale, so Crowley’s body did. Every inch of the pair was aligned. Crowley’s mouth was so close it nearly brushed Aziraphale’s lips as he spoke.

“I don’t need forgiveness,” Crowley countered.

“What do you need?” Aziraphale pressed. Crowly flinched.

The angel glanced down at Crowley’s clenched hands as they started to relax and spread out over the angel’s chest even as they continued to press and control.

Crowley’s expression drew tight. He leaned in as he breathed, his head bobbing slightly.

“I need...” he said as if in a trance.

Aziraphale pushed his grace outward, not combating the energy that hung in the air but adding to it like the combination of fuel and a spark.

“Let me give it to you,” the angel whispered. It wasn’t a question. It was an invitation.

Crowley took it.


	9. Entrepreneurial Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated R by the Motion Picture Association. Skip as needed, but like, do you really want to? #justCrowleytemptations

There was a gasp and a liquid trade of lips and tongues. Bodies intertwined in a delicious push and pull. Aziraphale felt himself phase in and out of reality. He was an angel but also another. Crowley sank his mouth down on a pulse point and intertwined his fingers into plush white curls as he pulled down. This hadn’t been planned...it was a coup.

Aziraphale’s mind burned out and he felt himself plummeting, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. He didn’t know how he was supposed to be feeling but could only imagine this was what humans experienced when they gave themselves to one another. He only understood it now, winding down in the final hours until the inevitable end of the world.

Crowley’s hand had drifted down to ghost over the angel’s waist and further still until Aziraphale gasped against his mouth. In that moment he was nearly undone. He wanted to reveal himself as the angel he truly was, white wings stretched on display and halo ablaze. He discarded the thought as Crowley yanked him away from the wall, leading him instead to the suite’s master bedroom.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Crowley was murmuring between his multiple assaults on the angel’s neckline. Salt and honey. He pushed Aziraphale down on to the bed and tugged at his towel until it fell, warmth and damp underneath.

“What is it about you?” Crowley whispered. “Why do you drive me so crazy?” In an unexpectedly raw move, he reached down and pulled at himself while staring at the angel.

Aziraphale’s eyes were everywhere as he tried to catalogue the divine manifestation in front of him. He was panting as hard as the man manipulating himself in front of him.

“Take it off,” Crowley commanded softly.

Aziraphale all but tore the jumper off and stripped down to his white silk boxers. He wasn't sure what to do next.

“Good,” Crowley affirmed as the angel leaned back on the bed. “Will you touch yourself for me?”

Aziraphale’s heart pounded out of his chest with lust as he rubbed and squeezed himself over his underwear. Something instinctual had taken over his body and was manifesting all kinds of surprises. He moaned softly.

Crowley was biting his lip hungrily and pumping himself faster. “Let me see,” he pleaded to his prone lover.

Aziraphale found the opening in his boxers and freed himself through it. He started working his erection in earnest now and dropped his head to gasp at the ceiling. Crowley’s breathing hitched at the sight.

He felt Crowley approach and slide his hands from Aziraphale’s strong thighs to his satisfying waist, roaming over the curves of his hips. Stilling the angel, he pulled thin shorts down to reveal everything he desired. “Ohhh, yes,” his voice sent a shockwave through the angel.

Aziraphale let loose a pitched cry when Crowley took him into his mouth and sucked hard. A hand had found its way to his pert balls and was massaging gently, roaming nomadically. The angle was gone with need and desire. He didn’t even know etherial beings could feel these kinds of things, or do them for that matter. It was just happening and oh it was so maddeningly good he twisted his pelvis to meet each torturous sensation. Aziraphale fisted the sheets as if to restrain himself. The sight of Crowley on his knees for him was exquisite.

Eventually, maybe too soon, Crowley drew back up and settled himself in a half push-up over Aziraphale’s straining body. Crowley's eyes dug into him eliciting a wanton keen from the angel. “I need you,” was begged but it was uncertain which one of them said it. They were too far gone.

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s hard length nudging against him and it destroyed his will all over again. Invisible waves were generating around them, emanating from their connection in shock-filled waves. Crowley pushed inside of him and thrust achingly slow; such effortless desire. Aziraphale dissipated into a wreck of moans and choked pleasure as his toes gave. There was nothing like this, and nothing else in the world or its possible demise even existed anymore.


	10. Overtime

They woke in each other’s arms, wrapped between soft sheets and blankets.

“Morning,” Crowley said hazily as he brushed his lips to Aziraphale’s forehead, nuzzling in his white-blonde hair.

Aziraphale didn’t want to move. He just wanted to linger here and pretend that nothing cataclysmic was on the horizon. He shivered as he imagined the armies of heaven and hell clashing together.

Crowley misunderstood his tremor and pulled a blanket up over the angel’s bare arm.

“I really don’t want to get out of bed,” Crowley admitted. He stretched and snuggled closer to his lover.

“I can’t believe that really happened,” Aziraphale breathed happily. “I’ve never...done anything like that before.”

“Shagged your boss, you mean?” Crowley growled lowly as he nibbled the angel’s ear.

“No,” Aziraphale sighed and crooked his head up. “I mean I’ve never...er...you know.”

Crowley sat up so he could see the angel’s face properly. “You’re joking.”

Aziraphale shook his head and shrugged a shoulder.

“Incredible,” his companion replied. “You really are the most fascinating puzzle of a man. I wish we had more time…”

When Crowley didn’t finish his sentence Aziraphale sat up too. “What do you mean?”

Crowley withdrew into himself and let his face sink into his hands. “I just mean nothing lasts forever. And there’s so many things I wish I could do with the time I have.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of Gabriel’s words and found himself in agreement. “There’s so many things I wish for too.”

“For one, I wish we didn’t have to cut our trip short,” Crowley mentioned.

“Oh?” the angel replied. “What about Deutsche Bank?”

Crowley shifted and let his feet sink into the carpet, his back to Aziraphale. “Something more important has come up,” he answered wearily. “Rather pressing. We need to get back right away.”

Aziraphale frowned, knowing that he needed to report to Heaven soon.

“Maybe it’s good timing,” the angel said. “I really need to visit my...uh...my family. There’s a slight emergency I just heard about last night.”

Crowley shifted back toward him and rubbed his hand gently. “Anything I can do?”

The angel sighed and kissed their intertwined fingers. He was still wearing the ring Crowley had gifted him. “If only.”

-

Crowley dropped Aziraphale off at the bookstore and gave him a tender kiss goodbye. The angel watched him get back into the car and mused gloomily. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last time they saw one another.

Remembering Gabriel’s orders, he set to work ‘beating the streets’ as it was. He spent a considerable amount of time at the public library reviewing articles of interest. It turned out that many global epidemics were on the rise just as the archangel had described. Additionally he assigned his network of human associates to keep an eye out. Well, technically his network was just one man, rather bonkers really, but it was a good start.

After nearly a week had passed, Aziraphale took it upon himself to return to his alma mater. He didn’t have much to report himself, but wanted to find out if there were any updates on the conflict. With a short ride up the heavenly escalator he made his way to the administrative suites and asked for Gabriel, who wasn’t in his office. Instead, he was directed to the board room where most of Heaven’s superior beings were gathering.

Aziraphale slipped into the room and sat in the back as a heated discussion raged.

Archangel Michael was on the verge of stomping her foot. “No way!” she spat. “This is so obviously a trap and we are not going to put ourselves in a situation where-”

“How can we entertain the notion of peace if we don’t at least meet with them?” a cherub deflected. Enraged angels started to argue amongst themselves.

Gabriel held up his hand and the room quieted. “What if we just sent one representative?” he offered. “We’ll ask them to do the same. That way if it comes to bloodshed the loss will be minimal. If Hell wants a meeting we can oblige them.”

Aziraphale frowned as the argument rolled on.

“But who would we even send?” Michael demanded. “It’s a suicide mission! If you think I would ever trust a demon to hold their end of the bargain you’re kidding yourself!”

The group fell into disarray and even Gabriel couldn’t regain control at that point. It seemed like an impending war was going to start right there in the sacred realm, let alone wait for Hell’s involvement.

Aziraphale felt something stirring inside him that felt a lot like courage, or idiocy as the case may be. He stood and made his way to the center of the group.

“Oh hey look it’s Earth Angel,” a particularly rude Power laughed.

Aziraphale glared at the warrior angel but said his peace. “I’ll do it,” he volunteered. “A meeting like this has to take place on earth and who knows it better than me? Besides, I’m just a Principality as you all know. My loss would be a minor one.”

Gabriel, obviously surprised to see the angel, gave him an appraising look. “You’d really do that?”

“Someone must,” Aziraphale said quietly. He shuffled his feet and stuck his hands deep in his pockets as he awaited approval. The Heavenly host was surprisingly quiet, but a number of darting glances and pantomimed movements rippled around the room. At last, Gabriel waved his hand toward Aziraphale.

“It’s all yours,” he said.


	11. Grounds for Dismissal

In the end, it was decided that Aziraphale would meet with Satan’s representative in the Princess Diana Memorial Garden at Kensington Palace. It would be clandestine, under cover of darkness after the tourists had long since retired for the evening. Aziraphale was given a list of negotiation points and demands, but he hardly believed he'd get the chance to discuss them. He couldn’t imagine Satan sending up a diplomat, after all.

With great care, he donned his favorite Victorian clothes and prepared to bargain with the devil. On his way out the door he took one last glimpse of the well-loved bookstore. It might be his last. With that in mind, he picked up the silver ring Crowley had given him and put it on. A silent prayer lined his lips as the door shut behind him.

-

Aziraphale unfurled his wings as he made his way down Broad Walk toward his destination. With a flourish, his halo beamed out like a holy beacon. No reason to go into this without a little flair, at any rate.

He walked over the light frost and noticed small flurries picking up in the wind, imitating snowfall. He arrived at the north side of the frozen pond and waited vigilantly. He really wished he still had his flaming sword as backup.

A figure emerged from the shadows on the other side, but Aziraphale could barely make it out. A slender man in all black and outstretched black wings was coming toward him, drifting in and out of shadows. The angel boosted the glow of his halo to see better, but the creature on the other side stopped just short of the light. Aziraphale observed a pair of dark sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“Show yourself, foul fiend!” he commanded in a booming voice that he hoped sounded intimidating.

“Er,” the demon intoned. “Would you mind hitting the dimmer? Feel like I’m on stage at the Palladium.”

“Oh, terribly sorry,” the angel apologized as he took the holy factor down a few notches by turning off his halo with the snap of his fingers.

The demon came closer. “Sooo...negotiations are in order,” he began. “We have a list.” He held up a folded piece of paper. “Suppose you’ve got one too.”

Aziraphale held up his own in confirmation.

“Ah,” the demon noted. “So I guess...should we read them to one another? Or maybe just trade?” He mimed throwing the paper across the fountain.

“Or perhaps we could really talk,” Aziraphale suggested. “You know, if you could vow to hold off on any devious tricks.” He flapped his wings hopefully.

“Yeah, sure,” the demon said off-hand. “Say, you’re voice...reminds me of someone. Have we met?”

Aziraphale snorted. “As if I would consort with a demon!” he said mightily. And then, “Er, sorry. You do sound the slightest bit familiar. Perhaps we ran into each other at the Crucifixion?”

“Nah,” the demon replied. “I was in Asia then. No matter. Why don’t we go into the cafe? It’s warmer there.”

“It’s closed!” Aziraphale objected.

The demon snickered and snapped his fingers. The main lights in the palace flickered on. “Not anymore,” he said saucily.

The two eyed each other warily as they converged on the west side of the garden, but at last they met in the center. A cloud passing over the moon drifted off, allowing the light to finally reveal the two opposing forces.

“Azira!” Crowley nearly screamed. “What the hell is going on?”

“Anthony!” the angel gasped. “What the heaven is going on?”

The two stood uselessly gesturing and sputtering for several minutes.

“You’re a demon!” Aziraphale accused.

“And you’re a bloody angel!” the demon shot back. “Wings and everything!” He yanked off his sunglasses to get a better look and Aziraphale screamed shrilly. Crowley’s eyes were dilated golden orbs like those of a snake.

“Oh right,” Crowley replied. “You’ve only seen them miracled to look normal.”

The angel was holding his arms up and nearly dancing with fright.

“Oh come on,” the demon groaned. “It’s not like I’m going to bite you or something. And I should be the one who’s scared!”

This shocked Aziraphale enough that he stopped hopping for a moment. “What in the world do you mean by that?”

Crowley’s face was incredulous as he threw up his hands. “You’re part of the heavenly host, for one! Isn’t it your job to smite my lot?”

“No more than you and yours!” the angel shot back. “You could be concealing a pitchfork for all I know!”

“Oh that's such a stereotype,” Crowley huffed.

Aziraphale’s face widened with dawning realization. “Morning Star….Lucifer!”

Crowley snorted and rolled his eyes. “You’re just now putting that together?”

The angel continued to fret as he wrung his hands. “Everything you’ve done has been in the name of Satan! The company…” His voice pitched up. “The executive meeting!” Aziraphale stopped and stared directly into his eyes. “And me? Did you know? Was I just...just part of some demonic temptation?”

Crowley held his hands up in defense. “No. It was never like that with you and me,” he swore in a low voice, but the angel wasn’t convinced. He started to back up as Crowley drew closer.

“I knew there was something special about you but I never imagined… Do you really think I would do that to you?” Crowley demanded angrily.

Aziraphale blanched. “I don’t know anything about you,” he stammered.

“Don’t do that, yes you do,” the demon stated as if negotiating for hostages. “You know me. Throw in some horns and a predisposition for evil but it was always me.”

The angel shook his head in disbelief. Crowley pressed his luck and moved again. The angel was just inches out of reach.

“It was always you and me,” he promised. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes EVERYTHING!” Aziraphale shouted. “We’re on opposite sides! I’m an angel, you’re a demon! There’s nothing left to say.” The angel’s lower lip protruded and started to tremble.

“No?” Crowley asked. “Then I’ll stop talking.”

In an instant he’d closed the distance between them and locked the angel into a searing kiss. Aziraphale fought back, but only for a second. He felt himself pulled by a force stronger than anything he’d ever known. In that moment he knew the truth at last. It was the two of them together, on their own side. Because they loved each other.


	12. Glass Ceiling

Crowley only drew away when both of them were out of breath and shaking. Aziraphale wouldn’t let go but pressed his face to the demon’s chest.

“Whatever are we going to do?” the angel cried.

Crowley clucked his tongue thoughtfully. “We could just run away,” he said. “Have you ever been to Alpha Centauri?”

Aziraphale balked and took a step back. “You can’t mean it,” he demanded. “We can’t just stand by and let them tear themselves and the world apart!”

“I do like this world,” the demon admitted. He drew his list out of his pocket and shrugged. Aziraphale followed suit and the two stood awkwardly reading each side’s demands.

“Oh, pff,” the demon derided as he read condition three.

“Absolutely not,” the angel huffed when he got to number five.

After a moment they both crumpled the lists and threw them in a nearby bin.

“Useless,” Crowley said. “What do you suggest Azira?”

The angel went red. “Oh, well...it’s actually Aziraphale.”

“Ah,” the demon replied. “It suits you.” The angel flushed pleasantly before his expression turned to embarrassment.

“Oh, perhaps I don’t know you’re name!” he sputtered. “Surely you must have some demonic appellation like Xozodoth or Golgaxon.”

The demon shook his head in derision. “Really?” and then “No, just Crowley. You can call me Crowley.” The angel beamed.

“So Aziraphale,” Crowley said with exaggerated pronunciation, “Got any brilliant ideas?”

The angel pouted. “Well...I can’t possibly think of a solution on an empty stomach.” His eyes traveled to the lit palace.

Crowley suppressed a laugh. He grabbed the angel’s hand and pressed a kiss into the palm before lacing Aziraphale’s arm over his own.

“I’ve heard good things about the The Palace Café,” he drawled. “Cakes fit for royalty.”

The angel nodded enthusiastically as they made their way out of the darkness, and into the light.

-

Aziraphale was lightly blotting his mouth on a napkin while Crowley watched him intently. Not even one crumb of sponge cake was left of the angel’s plate. He glanced up as if seeing the demon for the first time.

“Oh,” he blushed handsomely. “I didn’t even ask if you wanted some.”

“Not a fan,” Crowley replied. His eyes twinkled with fondness. “Besides, I have my Dom Pérignon.” He sipped from his glass as if demonstrating. “You know, we might be a little bit fucked.”

The angel let out a miserable sigh. “You might be right. How can we reconcile two sides that both want to take over the world? Their demands are almost exactly the same, which makes compromise improbable. They just cancel each other out.”

“Like us?” Crowley joked. Aziraphale smiled. He hadn’t thought about it that way before.

“For all their interest in ruling this planet I find it funny that Heavenly beings rarely step a foot on it,” the angel stated. “Gabriel avoids it like the plague, for instance. And on that note, I’m pretty sure I'm the only angel permanently stationed down here in the last six thousand years.”

“Hell’s a bit more active,” Crowley added. “But I can go a few millennia before one of my colleagues pops up. Since Morning Star took off they pretty much let me run the show up here.”

The two sat in silent contemplation until the angel nearly toppled the table as he jumped up.

“My dear!” he cried. “Why do you think the Dark Lord bothered to send a representative to talk terms?”

The demon shook his head. “Dunno. I guess I thought it was a lark. The Father of Lies isn’t one to keep promises, traditionally speaking.”

“So couldn’t it just be more of that?” the angel said. “Lies, I mean? Crowley, what if Lucifer doesn’t really want a war at all?”

Crowley wasn’t following. “That doesn’t make any sense, angel.”

Aziraphale glanced down with a soft blush. “Oh, I like that,” he replied, approving of the new pet name. “But do think about it! Heaven...or Hell taking over the earth isn’t sustainable. And really, just more of the same as to what they’ve already got in either realm.”

Crowley’s eyebrows knit together. “It’s always been about winning with Lucifer. Ever since the fall he’s done nothing but plot his revenge. You’re saying he doesn’t want that?”

The angel was practically shaking with excitement. “I’m saying,” he said slowly, “That playing to win is the fun part. Once you’ve won it’s over. No more nemesis. No more challenge. No more good to spoil with the bad.”

“Ohhhhh,” the demon replied and appraised Aziraphale with newfound appreciation. “Aziraphale, you’re just a little bit of a bastard, aren’t you?”


	13. Mergers and Acquisitions

Crowley and Aziraphale made their way back to the bookstore where they broke open a few more bottles of champagne than strictly necessary. Still discussing strategy, they lit a fire in the hearth and sat next to one another on the angel’s drooping sofa.

“If we pull this off,” Crowley began hesitantly, “I wonder…”

The angel nudged him gently, already a little passed tipsy from his bubbly drink. “You wonder what?” he asked.

The demon frowned and looked at his empty champagne glass. “You were rather taken with Mr. Anthony J. Crowley,” he said.

“Mm,” Aziraphale smirked. “Was I ever.”

The demon’s frown intensified. “You can’t go on pretending I’m not a demon.” He glowered at the floor as the angel shifted in his seat.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Aziraphale almost whispered. He lowered his empathetic eyes and concentrated for a moment. “Crowley, look at me.”

The demon stared stubbornly at the floor, much to the angel’s frustration.

“My love,” he tried again.

Crowley’s eyes were on him in lightning speed.

“Yes. There we are,” Aziraphale encouraged. “I do, you know...love you. So much. I feel like I’ve known you since the beginning of time. We’re about to risk everything, our very lives, based only on the trust we place in one another. You can’t possibly think that I don’t accept you exactly as you are. In fact, I won’t allow you to.”

Crowley’s frown turned into a tortured, but happy version of a frown. “You mean that,” he said.

The angel confirmed it with a kiss as if binding his vow. “If this doesn’t go as planned, I need you to know that I carried you in my heart.”

Crowley melted. “Oh angel,” he breathed. “I don’t think I could love you any more, but I’m willing to try.”

-

The first time they made love it had been reactionary. The tension between them had finally boiled over and they burnt like a newborn volcano. This time was slow and stoking. They were a blur of hands and hearts seeking refuge.

Their lips met hesitantly as if wanting to stall forever, but Aziraphale, of all beings, pressed them on with faint whispers. He didn’t just need Crowley. He wanted him like a flower wants the sun, unfolding gratefully and blissfully to the molten star that gives life just as it takes it.

‘His dark angel,’ and it wasn’t the only time he’d think it as Crowley pushed him down against sheets softer than clouds. If they made it, if they survived...then this was what they were living for. Two souls and bodies intertwined like good and evil, never really divided after all. It takes a little bit of both to survive on earth.

They indulged in the humanity that came naturally to other beings. In gasps and moans and teasing touches they found corporeal ways to say ‘I love you.’ The result was dizzying and strange. Both of them in the grasp of one another, chasing a feeling that seemed like it would dissipate, but it never did. Because they couldn’t exhaust what was boundless.

-

It was time to face the music, but it was also time to conduct like second half of The Rite of Spring (which is shockingly difficult). The ruse was complex, to be sure, and required only the most dizzying business acumen ever attempted.

Have you ever wondered what happens behind closed doors in the most dynamic corporate situations? An aversion of war is little different than a power play, and who better to romp in the sandbox but a demon and an angel?

“It’s not strictly necessary,” Aziraphale complained.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Crowley countered. “And besides, what if they bolster one another to the benefit of our cause?”

The angel chewed on this eventuality, and eventually caved.

“Fine, but…” he said emphatically. “This isn’t the Parent Trap!”

Crowley set to smoothing the angel’s feathers literally. “Not the Lohan one anyway, I hope,” he replied deviously.

Aziraphale gasped. “Well, I never…”

“Shh,” the demon comforted. “Only a joke.”

They were playing it down to the wire which had very nearly sprung under pressure.

“My dear,” Aziraphale started.

“My angel, my love,” Crowley responded.

Their lips brushed and were swept into a hug that clung irrevocably.

“What shall we do after?” the angel asked.

“We could dine at the Ritz,” the demon laughed halfheartedly.

Aziraphale snuggled under Crowley’s arm. “Yes,” he agreed.

He didn’t see Crowley roll his eyes, but he felt the comforting squeeze that landed on his thigh.

-

Aziraphale was struggling with the projector screen. They were holed up at the Further Education College of Lower Tadfield, of all places. When the angel asked why Crowley had suggested it the demon only shrugged.

“Seems like the place for the end of all things,” he replied enigmatically.

Crowley was watching Aziraphale muck about before he grew impatient.

“Shove over,” he growled as he grabbed the reluctant screen and yanked it down. “And don’t go near the laptop.”

Aziraphale eyed the glowing mechanism and huffed. “I don’t see why everything has to be so complicated,” he mumbled. “So many buttons and blinkers! What I wouldn’t give for some nice parchment and a quill…”

The angel went on but Crowley was ignoring him as he connected the computer to the projector and it came to life.

At the same time, he heard a pop and sizzle behind them. He turned to see the archangel Gabriel and his boss Beelzebub materialize in the classroom. Both looked stern and disinterested at the same time while giving one another disdainful glances.

“Well,” Gabriel said gruffly, “Let’s get this shitshow on a roll.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. It was time for the presentation.


	14. The Buyout

The first slide of their presentation featured a rudimentary Microsoft graphic of two cartoon hands meeting in a handshake. Beelzebub had dropped down into an uncomfortable desk chair while Gabriel preferred to stand with his arms crossed. Aziraphale took a deep breath and began their pitch.

“Vodaphone and Mannesman,” he said loudly.

The demon gestured at his side. “America Online and Time Warner,” he added.

“Disney’s acquisition of Marvel,” the angel said excitedly.

“Not to mention Lucasfilm,” Crowley amended.

“Oh yes!” Aziraphale agreed. “Imagine the crossover possibilities!”

Crowley groaned. “No. No way. Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? What, Darth Vader is is going to invite the Guardians of the Galaxy and fat Thor for afternoon tea? Or maybe you think C3P0 is going to do a buddy comedy with Spiderman? Psh!”

The angel was about to protest when Gabriel cleared his throat. “Can we get on with this?”

“Er, right,” the demon sputtered. “What we’re trying to talk about is some of the greatest corporate mergers in history… when two similar interests align to the benefit of both.”

“And what exactly does this have to do with Heaven and Hell?” Beelzebub prompted, incredulous.

The angel beamed and advanced the next slide: an icon of human forms united in a circle. “Precisely,” he said. “What we are suggesting is a corporate buyout of sorts.”

“A buyout,” Gabriel stated dully.

“Yeah,” Crowley’s rejoinder came. “The acquisition of a controlling interest in Hell’s most successful parent company.”

Beelzebub’s shock was palpable. “You want to leverage Morning Star???” she sputtered.

The angel stood up straighter than some would think possible. “We’re talking about managing equal shares,” he clarified. “High-risk, high-reward not withstanding.”

Crowley tapped the computer’s spacebar and an image of Morning Star appeared on the screen. The once black and looming skyscraper was now sheathed with an alabaster facade on the top half.

“Think about it,” the demon continued in his most entrepreneurial spirit. “We’ve seen what happens when a Heavenly influence takes a stake in Hell’s affairs: i.e., Aziraphale’s interventions at Morning Star. Wicked ventures are neutralized but not eliminated. Virtuous actions are tainted but not struck out. We’re talking about true balance in the earthly realm.”

The angel nodded his head in agreement. “I think we can all imagine what the world would look like under total angelic rule. Heaven on earth, to be sure, but where is there room for free will? Don’t act like She would appreciate the negation of her best work,” he dared a glowering glance at Gabriel, and the archangel turned sheepish.

Crowley smiled smugly and confronted Beelzebub, whose mouth couldn’t seem to close all the way. “And,” he declared, “Hell on earth is more of the same. Satan could hold sway over the humans but he of all beings heralded the right to choose freely. Sure, torture the fallen and all that. Hell serves a purpose as a consequence in the afterlife. But on earth...where else can you see the push and pull of grace versus sin as it plays out? Humans are the actors who strut the stage enacting the true epic battle of opposing forces: good and evil incarnate. A war between Heaven and Hell is already taking place on a daily basis. To enact it between ethereal beings is redundant. Surely even you see that.”

Beelzebub finally managed to close her mouth as she sat stunned. Gabriel too looked pale and uncertain.

“And who exactly,” the archangel asked already knowing the answer, “Would head up this unprecedented initiative?”

The demon smiled to reveal his perfect white teeth. “Anthony J. Crowley, CEO, at your service.”

Aziraphale moved to stand beside him. “And Mr. Azira Fell, COO,” he added.

The two stood smiling like maniacs until Beelzebub stood abruptly and Gabriel moved forward a few steps.

“I’m going to need to take this up with a higher authority,” the archangel said dryly.

“As will I,” Beelzebub chimed in. “It’s not the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, but…” She sighed, resigned to the general idea.

Behind their backs, the angel and demon’s hands sought each other out. In a world where the house always wins, had they actually tipped the odds in their favor?

-

Three weeks later, Aziraphale was admiring his new corporate office. It was the complete opposite of Crowley’s, naturally. It had the lived-in feel of a professorial study and plump downey pillows on the vintage sofas and chairs. His desk was more of an antique than a central point for pressing business, though they had that.

Crowley sauntered in and took in the surroundings appraisingly. “Quite the place you’ve got here,” he surmised.

The angel glanced up then down, a flirtatious grin spreading across his face. “Yes, I think it’s a nice addition,” he responded.

The demon plopped down on a light blue settee and sprawled across it invitingly. The angel joined him and leaned into the crook of his arm.

“Morning Star will never be the same,” Crowley drawled.

“Ah,” the angel corrected, “That’s Morning Star Incorporated, now.”

The demon kissed his temple and pulled Aziraphale closer. “Quite right. Tell me again how we pulled this off?”

The angel was only too happy to oblige him. “What you said about cancelling each other out was always the key,” he said softly. “There can’t be a monopoly on good or bad. The earth was created as an interspace for that exact reason. Both She in her divine wisdom and Lucifer in his Machiavellian ruthlessness have to accede that. It’s just the rules of the game.”

“And we are but players,” Crowley mused aloud.

Aziraphale snuggled closer and closed his eyes. “For now,” he agreed. “There may come a time when the scales tip over, but not as long as you and I have a say in it.”

“We really are quite the dynamic duo,” Crowley said airily. His eyes drifted aloft and a self-satisfied smile played over his lips. “Angel?” he asked suddenly.

Aziraphale gazed up at him. “Yes, my love?”

“We’re going to make Apple look like a startup,” he declared. “Ooh Apple would have been a good name for a demonic-angelic team-up. So layered in meaning.”

“Shame it’s taken,” the angel laughed. “Though have you ever noticed there’s a bite out of the logo?”

Crowley shifted in his seat. “You’re not suggesting something untoward?”

Aziraphale blanched before his easy smile regained its composure. “Certainly not,” he decided. “I think we’ve cornered the market.”

“Just so,” the demon agreed and hugged his angel close. In business and in life he’d finally found the key to success in their partnership. Because they worked together.


End file.
